"Grumbles, Gripes - Grins and Giggles" By: Edwin Thompson
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"Grumbles, Gripes - Grins and Giggles" By: Edwin Thompson “Grumbles, Gripes - Grins, and Giggles” By: Edwin Thompson Ramblings and babblings inspired by drives in a Porsche 986, reading too many magazine articles, internet forums, and watching too many YouTube car videos. 2. Table of Contents: “A Sunday Morning Sunrise Service” 4 “Sensibility, Reality, and Sports Cars” 7 “I Long for Analog" 16 "Waah! They Took My Flat Six" 20 “How Often Have You Been Overtaken?” 22 "The Stupidity of Genius" 25 “The Mystique and the Machines” 28 “Driving A Slow Car Fast” or “Elixir 986” 33 “Simple Desires Hidden in Big Dreams” 37 “Diminishing Return” 40 “Buying Cars As An Investment” 42 “0 to 60” 44 “Fifty-Five Degrees in June... in the South!” 46 “Sublime” 48 “Working on a Mid-Engine Car” 50 “Installing Sound Systems in a Porsche” 53 “Living With a Manual” 56 “One Owner Cars and Multiple Owner Cars” 59 “Amortization” 63 “You Sold a Two Year Old 370Z for a Twenty Year 66 Old Porsche? You’re Crazy!” “Cars and Coffee” 70 “A Practical, Subtle Supercar - An Oxymoron” 72 “Old Cadillac’s” 75 “An Envie for a Vintage Light Ivory Mercedes Wagon” 79 “Slot Cars” 82 “Vanity of Vanities” 85 3. “Bentley’s Future-A Sad Day For The Few, The Privileged” 88 “Polar Regions” 91 “Alcantara, the New Velour ... And Other Gripes” 94 “A Daily Driver: An Appliance or a Tool?” 97 “A Twenty Three year Old Porsche 986 As a Daily Driver” 99 "The Finest Materials Available" 101 “Commuter Pod” 105 “A Ten Dollar Car” 108 “A Hollow Feeling” (First story written in collection) 111 “I Need Therapy” 118 “Heel and Toe Do-si-do - and Fttf She Was Gone” 121 Conclusion 126 4. Sunday July 30, 2017 “A Sunday Morning Sunrise Service” After a week of rain and 95 degree-stand-still-and-sweat weather, a cool front was forecast to move through Saturday night. I was ready, and when it did, we were going to have us a Sunday morning sunrise service! We, being me and the six cylinders of my Porsche Boxer engine... as well as the fact that I have always addressed myself in “The Royal We” tense. I woke up at 5:15 a.m. Sunday morning, stepped outside and smiled; the weatherman scored a hit - 65 degrees, clear, and no noticeable humidity. I uncovered the Porsche, she was already grinning. I went inside, fixed a cup of coffee, and more quickly than my usual lollygagging over coffee, drank a tolerably warm cup of coffee rather quickly. I went out, started the car, folded the top down, put on my driving gloves and headed east towards the breaking light of dawn and my favorite mountain road, Highway 25. The sound of a Porsche Boxer engine is so sweet, and she was singing this morning. Once on Highway 25 I was no longer just a driver, I was also the maestro; I grabbed my conductors baton - the stick shift - and had the six cylinder choir do some warm-ups. Yes sir, they were in fine form this Sunday morning, everyone was there, the baritones of low revs, a countertenor, as well as the tenors and bass, the whole rev range was on key; and did I mention, we had a guest soprano soloist who was going to hit the real high notes, she’s known as the “Banshee.” Turning onto Highway 25 it almost seemed fitting that as we all started coming into harmony, right around the first curve, off to the right, sat a little white country church with a graveyard on the side. The sunlight streaming through the ancient oaks was illuminating the headstones as though they were in the spotlight. It gave me two immediate sensations/thoughts - you better enjoy life while you’re alive - cause they ain’t hav’n no fun in the bone-yard - and I asked the Lord for protection as I began my self-indulgent, earthly pleasure. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw three dogs racing through the graveyard towards the road; I downshifted - directing the Banchee to wail, and we raced away from the “hounds of hell” headed my way. Oh yeah, this “spirited” drive had begun. As I raced towards the mountains crest, the six cylinder symphony performed a flawless accelerando up the octave scale. 5. As I reached the crest I noticed the scenery from my peripheral vision, it was amazing; I felt as though I truly had ascended closer to heaven. I slipped into third gear at the crest, awaking the alto section, approaching the hairpin turn that begins the decent. I moved my baton into second gear, sending the revs up to 5000, the Banshee stood up and began her soprano solo... 5500 rpm, she started climbing the octave scale, she held her aria all the way to 6300 rpm’s. “Bravo!” I shouted. With the flick of my baton into fourth gear, I directed the choir into a caesura - a sudden stop - as we gently glided down the mountain, the choir sang in a perfect mechanical pianissimo, complete with harmonic back burbling performed by the exhaust/horn section. At the bottom of the mountain the road turned into a serpentine asphalt ribbon through the low lying hills and lush, green valleys. At this point the choir nearly directed itself - fourth, third, fourth, second - low tones, mid- range, soprano... I just relaxed and led the symphony with the gentle, rhythmic movements of my baton, shifting smoothly through the gears. As I entered the section of Highway 25 that is literally an extended series of esses, with a few fifth gear straights thrown in, the choir began to take on more of an upbeat tempo. As I glided swiftly through the esses my body began swaying side to side in the seat like a singer in a gospel choir. It was exhilarating! The tempo was increasing. We swayed through the final set of esses and into the crescendo straight; I floored it, and let the Banshee have a three gear solo. I threw my hands high above me into the air and shouted “Hallelujah!” And then I heard it again, twice! “Hallelujah, Hallelujah” “Wait, that wasn’t me,” I thought. I swore I could hear the angels singing, I looked in my rear view mirror and sure enough, there were my two guardian angels, sitting on the rear clamshell like it was a rumble seat; they were smiling, happy to be assigned to me this glorious morning. They winked and gave me a thumbs up... Of course “when the roll is called up yonder” I’ll be there, but you can bet your butt that my guardian angels will be asking for overtime pay! 6. I grinned and continued on, turning south onto Highway 53 and headed home. My spirits had been lifted. The whole experience was sinfully delightful. I hadn’t violated any of God’s laws, but I sure did ignore the laws of man, and probably pushed the laws of physics to their edge as well. As I pulled into the driveway, I sat listening to the engine purr like a happy cat. I turned it off, raised the convertible, put the car cover back on, and went inside. When I walked inside my mom asked if I would bring her to church. Smiling broadly, I said, “Sure, I’ll go again.” 7. Thursday August 3, 2017 “Sensibility, Reality, and Sports Cars” I have always had the view that cars, for the most part, are nothing more than soulless, boring, transportation boxes manufactured for the masses. I say “for the most part” because they’re are, of course, exceptions. In 1965, when I was six, as we sat at a stoplight, a Rolls- Royce Silver Cloud glided along side of us, stopping beside us, perfectly framed in my field of vision. I immediately fell in love; the desire to own one was planted in my mind and heart. It’s not that my dad drove boring cars, we had a Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham that was a close to a personal limousine that one could own, complete with footrests and picnic tables, ala Rolls-Royce style. It was a great car, I learned to hunt blackbirds from the backseat; sending the dog out to retrieve my downed birds. He also owned a diesel Mercedes, which he gave to the preacher, because my mom hated the car; a lesson/feeling plated in the annals of my mind, that would surface in my own life years later - unloved car equals unhappy wife. Dad had an Audi Super 90 when I was a teenager, a car that I drove. The Audi, along with the childhood memories of the Mercedes, planted an appreciation for simplistic style and exquisite German craftsmanship into my psyche. Before I was born my dad also owned an MG TD for goodness sakes. I suppose my destain, or rather unimpressed attitude with cars began in 1970 when I got my first motorcycle. From then on I saw cars as “cages”, as described by the popular biker vernacular of the day. But I still had, and still do, have a desire to own a Silver Cloud; even though I owned the identical car, except for badging, a 1958 Bentley S1. By the time I was fifteen, and driving, I was also at the height of my motorcycle fanaticism, to the point of being nicknamed “The Fiend” by my sisters and their boyfriends. My first car was a double hand-me-down 1965 Comet that my grandfather had given to my older sister who subsequently passed it down to me.